


Halcyon

by SpicySannd



Category: Dream Team (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Confrontations, Dream Smp, Fluff and Angst, M/M, The election
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:34:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26678296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicySannd/pseuds/SpicySannd
Summary: “This is complicated,” Dream stutters and stumbles over his words, searching for the right angle to grip the situation. “What Schlatt is doing, George, isn’t really fair-““Isn’t fair?” the brunet forces out, cutting off the other harshly. He takes a step back from the blond, a small frown painted across his porcelain face, confusion splintering within his mind and cutting deep like shards.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 296





	Halcyon

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is purely fictional and does in no way intend for slander/libel. In the event any of the youtubers included in this fic claim to feel uncomfortable with this story, or Dream and George feel uncomfortable with shipping, the fic will be taken down immediately.
> 
> Not proof-read, prepare for possible spelling mistakes or something similiar. The fic may or may not be edited later.
> 
> Without further ado, please sit back and enjoy the ride.

Cold fingers, stiff, trail over the sharp edges of new parchment. Brown eyes skim through inked font with precision that doesn’t allow for any mistakes. The brunet exhales softly in the quiet room, moves the paper to the side and goes through the next, routine on undisturbed repeat.

“Hi.”

George flinches, shock breaking out over his whole figure as his gaze sharply turns upwards at who the quiet word belonged to. The brunet is admittedly sharp, the scars of an archer scattered across porcelain skin, days of war, of struggle not far off his back yet.

Cold focused eyes melt into a comfortable warmth. White mask, dirty blond hair strands sticking out from a dark green hood, impressive netherite armor on full exhibition. George feels the corners of his lips pull up.

George may be sharp, but there is only a single person that walks on the same muddy ground as him, who easily manages to sneak around his defenses.

“Dream!” the brunet coughs out a surprised laugh. As the brunet scrambles to move around his wooden desk, the yelled blond in question removes his mask with no thought and lets go of all his baggage to open his arms wide.

The older practically collides into the blond, and if the younger’s looks had appeared deceiving, George would always know Dream by the feeling of being in his strong, warm embrace. Arms hugging him closer than ever before, slightly tan fingers brushing up into chocolate brown curls. Porcelain hands clenching tightly onto a dark cape, a slight tremble whimpering with unspoken fear already collecting under the brunet’s skin, not ever wanting the blond to leave him again.

Warm bodies move around until George is tucked neatly under the younger’s chin, no words spoken between the two souls as they collect themselves in the other’s arms, thoughts floating with ease like a fluffy cloud.

“I missed you,” George tenderly whispers, breaking the peaceful silence.

“Yeah, I was gone much longer than I had planned,” the blond replies sheepishly and George can sense the smile forming on Dream’s face.

They move around again, restless, and excited. Dream falls back slightly and leans down, their foreheads coming to connect gently, like two raindrops on a flower petal forming as one in the early morning. Warm chocolate eyes look into fresh green that weakens the brunet’s knees. Gentle hands brush against pink cheeks, trembling hands finding home on a slim waist.

Home.

“I was getting worried,” the brunet sighs happily and soft lips caresses his cheekbone, nudging carefully against dark lashes before wandering over his nose that leaves George’s heart fluttering.

“I’m here now,” Dream reassures, and George couldn’t be happier.

They wander off from the cabin, fingers holding onto each other almost in anxiety as if the other could suddenly disappear into thin air. The day is sunny, but the autumn breeze brings them closer to relish in what little intimacy and body heat they can share.

“A lot happened while you were gone,” George murmurs, the two staring out at the familiar landscape, field and forest mashing together, nature burnt to ashes as a wound, a reminder of what they have been through. But as the two stand together, the return of birds singing echo in the air, and golden sun shines down upon flowers and green life sprouting from the dead ground.

“I heard,” the blond sighs and leans to his side to softly peck at the older’s temple, the other’s presence tasting sweetly on his lips, like honey and strawberries. George doesn’t find the energy to interrogate the blond on his knowledge when a voice whispers in the back of his mind, knowing who Dream had spoken to.

“I’m worried,” Dream admits, quiet, a tone just above a raspy whisper, soothing the brunet’s ear with content and tingling against his hair.

“Why would you be worried? This isn’t like back when we fought against L’manburg, there is no revolution,” George chuckles with ease, dismissive in his reassurance as if the blond was speaking words of absurdity.

Dream shifts, drawing slightly away from the warmth of comfort. “There’s no revolution, _yet_.”

A thick silence rolls over them like a fog, the sound of birds seemingly blocked out from their surroundings, and the golden light of the sun’s rays appear dimmer, more lifeless. George’s smile slips a little. He tries to fight it, wanting to hold onto the rush of being on cloud nine forever. However, the bubble around him slowly shrinks as he turns to face the man he adores.

“What?” is all that escapes dry lips, word tickling in the back of his throat on a laugh of disbelief, his eyes are begging for the taller male to explain, to talk to him. Their gazes meet, yet somehow, George finds the blond’s green eyes to appear a greyish green.

“This is complicated,” Dream stutters and stumbles over his words, searching for the right angle to grip the situation. “What Schlatt is doing, George, isn’t really fair-“

“Isn’t fair?” the brunet forces out, cutting off the other harshly. He takes a step back from the blond, a small frown painted across his porcelain face, confusion splintering within his mind and cutting deep like shards. “What do you mean it’s not fair? We won fair and square, Schlatt was _elected_. Everything is fair.”

“George, please, that’s not my point,” Dream sighs with frustration lingering on the edge of his voice, “he _exiled_ Wilbur and Tommy from L’manburg. They fought with everything they had for their independence, and now they’ve been kicked out from their own home, their everything,” he tries to reason.

Dream’s expression turns sterner, eyes not daring to break off connection with chocolate brown. “Schlatt doesn’t have good intentions, George, he doesn’t follow the same principles that the old L’manburg did. Schlatt is a greedy megalomaniac who only cares about power.”

Wind squeezes itself from the brunet’s lungs, his hearing is sharp yet blurry, not willing to register Dream’s words properly, not desiring to believe, to want to taste the blond’s despair and struggling thoughts on the tip of his tongue. Dream suddenly seems so far away from his reach, and George wants to curl up and scream from the bottom of his aching heart to the tears of betrayal threatening to spill.

“You’re a fool if you think Wilbur and Tommy will let you guys get away with what you’ve done,” the blond presses, stress and a hint of despair visible on his freckled face.

“You’re _supporting_ _them_?” the brunet trembles, utter betrayal covering every ounce of the meaning of his words.

“George-“ the blond reaches out, but George only flinches further away. “Don’t touch me,” the brunet hisses. Hurt. Confused. The venom dripping from his voice leaves the blond frozen in his spot with wide eyes staring back at him.

“Dream, you’re either with us or against us,” George sniffles, a single tear travels down his pale cheek.

“ _Please Dream_ , I don’t want to be _against you_.”

“I-“ the blond starts, mouth open, yet lips unmoving and voice locked away as panic strikes his core. He feels torn, his heart tearing itself to shreds, needing to hold George in his arms and kiss away the teardrop. His mind and logic keeps him rooted to his spot, a cold force of stone, a part of him that had frequently been present during the great war.

“I won’t involve myself directly, this isn’t my battle,” Dream squeezes through gritted teeth, and George isn’t sure if he believes him entirely. Yet, more tears are spilled, so many emotions running high as they find themselves to be within each other’s arms once again, clinging desperately as the day reaches sunset.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, please don’t let Schlatt or anyone hurt you, George,” the blond mumbles into brown locks, cold fingers brushing through hair with a heavy heart.

Green eyes watch as the sun leaves, taking back its light and leaves the surroundings in a cold atmosphere that the blond could feel the moment he treaded through the lands upon his return.

He’s not sure if that feeling will go away for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Halcyon  
> A period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful.
> 
> When I saw that Dream supported Pogtopia, the only thing that went through my mind was "Ya'll realize that George and Dream are lowkey against each other right?"


End file.
